FALLING FURTHER
by SANDEFUR
Summary: A House, Criminal Minds, Joan of Arcadia crossover.
1. Chapter 1

FALLING FURTHER

by

SANDEFUR

This is fanfiction just for fun. I have no claims.

SPOILER ALERT: This story is based on the HOUSE episode, "Fall From Grace". If you have not seen the episode stop reading if you don't want it 'spoiled'.

Okay, we begin where 'Fall From Grace' ended. Medical student Martha M. Masters (Amber Tamblyn) has just learned that Dr. House's patient, a homeless man, has disappeared from the hospital. The F.B.I. has arrived because the patient's D.N.A. matches that of a wanted serial killer. The part of the homeless man was played by Chris Marquette. Joe Mantegna plays the part of Agent David Rossi on Criminal Minds.

3-21-11/Monday morning.

Martha is escorted to House's office by a man wearing a jacket labeled: F.B.I. She is still in shock at the news. The man they struggled so hard to cure, the one whose true name they never learned, has slipped away undetected from Princeton Plainsboro Hospital only hours before federal agents showed up to arrest the guy. The same guy Martha has been feeling sorry for and trying so hard to help. A serial killer – with 13 known kills! And…a cannibal. How ironic considering the successful diagnosis they had all been so proud of: Adult Refsum Disease – an extremely rare medical condition involving the body's inability to properly metabolize certain foods…

"Dr. Reid will be with you in a moment." The unnamed agent remarks before leaving.

Martha goes to the conference table where this 'Dr. Reid' is busy looking at something on his laptop. Martha takes a seat opposite him and waits patiently. She has to admit that Reid goes against her assumed idea of what an F.B.I. agent should look like. He seems more like a young professor who has never strayed from university life than like a federal agent who deals with dangerous serial killers. No doubt he is a profiler from the agency's famed Behavorial Analysis Unit.

Reid completes a notation and begins a routine greeting. "Sorry to keep you waiting…" (He gasps.) "Joan?"

Martha smiles and points to her i.d. badge. "Sorry, no one here but us 'Marthas'. I'm Martha Masters and you are…'Doctor' Reid?"

"Er, yes. I have a doctorate in psychology. Excuse me for staring, but you look remarkably like a young woman I use to date."

Martha smiles again and wonders if this is the start of a pickup line. Even though Dr. Reid is definitely not her type, her ego could use the boost. "So, I have a doppleganger somewhere?"

"Not exactly, but the resemblance is very close. You're not by any chance related to a family named Girardi who live in Arcadia Maryland?"

"Sorry, never heard of either one. Is it really that close of a resemblance?"

"At a casual glance, you could be mistaken for sisters. Joan is probably a year or two younger than you, has dark brown hair instead of reddish brown and is more physically fit…"

"Are you calling me fat? I'll have you know I fall exactly in the normal weight range for a woman my height."

"No, no – I just meant that Joan is more the athletic type. At least she was the last time I saw her…"

"Your tone tells me it didn't end well."

Reid nods sadly. "We had one formal date, and yes, it ended badly. I'm sorry for this personal tangent, Miss Masters or may I call you Martha? I'm Spencer, by the way."

Martha shrugs. "No problem. Did you want to discuss our missing patient, Spencer? We don't even know his real name."

"Sadly, nor do we. It was only when your Dr. House began a data search for matching D.N.A. that we became aware that our unknown serial killer was here. He has killed and partially devoured 13 women across 10 states – that we know of. To date we have no idea of his identity, and have found no matches to his D.N.A. on file. In questioning other members of Dr. House's team, we have been told that you had the most interaction with this young man?"

"Yes, originally he was admitted to the E.R. as a burn victim when his arm was set on fire by accident by a couple of kids playing with a rocket in the park. I was the one who first brought his case to the attention of Dr. House."

"As to that, we are still trying to get up to speed on the arrangement here between Dr. House and the hospital. He normally sees only one patient at a time and completely of his choosing?"

Martha nods. "I know that sounds odd, but Dr. House is a genius who takes only cases that intrigue him. He receives dozens of requests for his services every day, but he gets to choose whom he will see."

"And to do this he has a staff of three doctors and a medical student for only one patient? How can his department possibly turn a profit?"

"It doesn't. The hospital maintains Dr. House's department for the prestige he brings. House has a nationally, even internationally known reputation for being the court of last resort. Other doctors send him the patients they have been unable to successfully diagnose. His record speaks for itself, and even though the department loses money, the prestige brings in large donations from contributors."

"Who no doubt hope their contributions will bring them favorable status should they ever need Dr. House's services. The rest of his staff has been fully cooperative, but we have been unable to reach Dr. House. Isn't that unusual for such an important doctor?"

"Dr. House is usually available, but at the moment he is on his…honeymoon."

Reid detects the disapproving tone in Martha's voice, but makes no comment. "How did an ordinary burn victim, a homeless man, become a patient of such a famous diagnostician?"

"Partly it was due to his distraction while making plans for his wedding. I doubt he wanted to be tied up with an unusually difficult case. Our patient, in addition to his burn, was displaying symptoms of dysosmia, which can have several neurological causes."

"Dysosmia is a medical condition where someone is unable to correctly differentiate smells?"

"Yes. 'Ferris' claimed his burning flesh smelled like licorice, and antiseptics in the E.R. smelled like blueberry muffins."

"Ferris?"

Martha blushes a little. "I've devoted almost my entire life to study, so I am not always aware of certain cultural references. At the time I didn't realize the first name he gave us, Ferris Bueller, is the title character from a movie made the year I was born. My colleagues…found that amusing."

Reid suppresses a smile. "He then gave other names?"

"Yes, Peter Johnson and then Danny Jennings, which is what we called him most of the time he was here. We did think the Jennings i.d. was correct because we found his backpack in the park, and he had several books with that name in them."

"How did you come to spend more time with the patient than the other members of the team?"

"I felt sorry for 'Danny' because he had such a hard life. We found numerous old burns and scars on his body which he claimed came from being abused as a child by his father."

"That may be true. Abuse is a common factor in the personal histories of many psychotic killers. As I understand it, there were signs of heroin use?"

"In his past. We tested Danny's blood and it came back clean, but a test of his hair showed he had been using heroin at one time. Danny told us he kicked the habit in a state rehab facility after he briefly died from an overdose. He expressed it as God giving him a second chance at life, and he was determined to make something of himself. He said he wanted to go to medical school."

Reid smiles. "It may be that he was just telling you what he thought you wanted to hear."

"Dr. Taub thought so too because I'm a med student and because Dr. Chase is rather religious, despite his hedonistic lifestyle. Taub thought Danny might be a schizophrenic who adapted to those around him. He tested that theory by pretending to love hockey, but Danny surprised him by saying he hated hockey."

"Your 'Danny' might have easily seen through such an obvious ruse. He seems to be quite intelligent."

"He did claim to have received a scholarship to study pre-med right out of high school. But I suppose we can't trust anything he had to say."

"On the contrary, there may have been an actual blending of truth and fiction in all that Danny had to say. Our task is to sift through his statements and try to find the truth, which may lead us to him."

"I wish I could tell you which is which, but I'm completely thrown by all of this."

"You didn't notice anything unusual in his behavior? For instance, in reviewing the hospital's security coverage, Danny always had his face turned away from the cameras, or hid his face with his uninjured arm."

"He was homeless, and many of our homeless patients are a little paranoid about their pictures being taken. There are no usable images?"

"None. We have his fingerprints and D.N.A., but nothing to match those to. We were hoping he might have mentioned something that could give us a lead as to his next destination?"

"Sorry. I don't even know how he got out of the hospital undetected."

"Apparently he broke into a locker assigned to your Dr. Taub and stole a spare suit of clothes as well as some money. We only have a picture of his back as he leaves out a side entrance. Will his medical condition make it easier for us to catch him?"

Martha shakes her head. "His burns were healing well, and he only needs to maintain basic first aid to take care of his arm. As for his Refsum Disease, we fully briefed him on the foods he needs to avoid to prevent another flare up."

"Would human flesh be included in that list of forbidden foods?"

"I'm quite sure the ingesting of human flesh has never been tested on its' effect on Refsum's Disease. You must think I'm terribly naive in not detecting something...odd about Danny."

"On the contrary, in what we know of this man's killing habits, gaining the trust of his various victims before he turns on them is an important part of his ritual murders. He is very adept at fooling people."

"He certainly fooled me. I even researched for him homeless shelters that offer psychiatric services. I gave him a list."

"Do you remember which ones? It's a long shot, but we have to try every possibility."

Martha removes a notepad from her pocket and quickly writes down five names. She passes them over to Reid, who notes that she is using her own personal stationary. As Reid reviews the list, Martha begins a sketch on the next page of the notepad. Reid watches with interest.

"You are very skilled."

"I took an art degree and briefly considered being a professional artist. I'm trying not to let my revised personal feelings about Danny influence this sketch. To me he seemed a sad, repentent person who was worthy of a second chance despite..."

"Despite what?"

"I'm...an idiot. Danny actually confessed to me that he once attacked his college girlfriend. That he snapped one night and began beating her."

"And you didn't report that?"

"It was said in confidence, and...he seemed genuinely remorseful. He blamed himself for turning into the same sort of monster his father was, but thought his second chance from God meant he was forgiven. That he had a clean slate to start over. I believed him. Pretty dumb, huh?"

"No, you were just being compassionate and empathetic. You are obviously a kind person."

"Dr. House thinks I'm too trusting to be a good doctor. His personal motto is: Everybody lies. He lives his life accordingly." Martha says as she slides over her completed sketch. She fails to mention that House's methods often include breaking into patient's homes because he didn't trust their denials of any toxic substances being in their houses.

"This is an amazing sketch. We will be distributing it to the media right away."

At that moment an older man with a goatee enters the office... "Reid, we just got a report that our Unsub was spotted on the riverfront."

"I'll be with you in a moment, Rossi."

Martha stares at the newcomer with obvious interest. "Excuse me, but you look very familiar. Have we met?"

Rossi looks at the young medical student and shakes his head. "I don't think so."

Reid says, "Excuse my manners. Martha Masters, this is Agent David Rossi."

Martha snaps her fingers. "David Rossi, of course. Your photo is on the back of your book on hostage negotiations. I read it for my psych class, but it said you were retired from the F.B.I."

"I found retirement too dull, so I came back. Reid?"

"Meet you out front in two minutes."

Rossi nods and hastily exits. Reid begins gathering up his papers and shuts down his laptop.

"Martha, thank you so much for your help - especially the sketch. I was wondering...would you like to go to dinner sometime?" Reid asks with a shy blush.

Martha hesitates. It has been a long time since a man has asked her out, and Spencer seems like a bright, interesting guy but...not her type. When she was earning her mathematics degree, Martha was surrounded by scrawny, brillant geeks like Spencer Reid and none of them ever appealed to her. Martha has always found herself attracted to the muscular macho type. Her brillant mind has argued logically against this inclination for years, but to her chagrin, Martha has learned that the hormones want what the hormones want. Her last 'crush' was on a rodeo bull rider!

"I'm sorry Spencer, but it seems a really bad idea to go out with a guy because you remind him of an ex-girlfriend."

Reid nods. "You're probably right. Uh, I have to go..."

Spencer Reid makes a hasty exit, only partly due to the demands of his job. Martha sighs, feeling a little guilty. A nice man. She hopes she didn't hurt his feelings. Anyway, she will probably never see him again.

X X X X X

Agents Rossi and Reid sit in an unmarked black SUV - standard issue for the BAU. They are parked half a block away from Martha Masters' apartment, which is logically located halfway between the university and the hospital. As the sun is setting, Martha parks her compact car in its' assigned space and hurries into the apartment building.

"Well, she made it safe and sound." Rossi dryly comments.

Reid notes the tone. "I want to thank you again for indulging my...hunch."

"Reid, since when do you have hunches?"

"Never. It is a non-empirical practice that defies rationalization."

Rossi chuckles. "Then I guess you're overdue. But answer me honestly, do you really have a hunch or are you just attracted to this girl? I saw the way you were looking at her."

"Then honestly, I admit I'm strongly attracted to Martha - Miss Masters."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just ask the girl out?"

"I did. She...shot me down."

Rossi sighs. "So, depending on how you look at it, we're either protecting this young woman from a potential attack by a serial killer, or...you're stalking her."

Reid frowns. "Do you actually think the other members of the team might believe I'm stalking Martha?"

"As a man who has parked outside the homes of various ex-girlfriends and three ex-wives, I would call it a grey area. Hotch might not see it that way."

Reid thinks of their team leader Aaron Hotchner, a rather humorless, by-the-book type of man. Reid nods his agreement and responds...

"I do have reasons for my hunch. From talking to her colleagues, and from my own brief time with her, I would have to agree with the prevailing view that Martha is a remarkably naive and trusting young woman. If you will, an innocent lamb in a world filled with wolves."

"Exactly the sort of woman our profile says the Unsub would seek out."

"Then there is the note. Martha supplied me with the same list of homeless shelters she gave to the Unsub. She has a rather firm handwriting and I noticed the indentations left by whatever she wrote on the previous page. When I held it to the light I could see it was the same list in a slightly different order. It is on her personal stationary, which includes her home address."

"And she gave that to a homeless man she met only a couple of days before? That pushes trusting to the point of stupidity. Okay Reid, if it comes down to it, I'll back your hunch with Hotch."

The two agents resume watching the second floor balcony of Martha's apartment.

X X X X X

Martha enters her apartment carrying her laptop, a huge pile of research material and a small sack filled with Thai food. She is glad to have the apartment to herself for a change since her room mate is out of town for a couple of days, and she can use the peace and quiet in which to study. This semester of independent study has been the busiest and most challenging of her academic career. Not only is she gaining practical experience at the hospital, but she is also expected to keep up with her third year studies all on her own - complete with tests and performance reviews. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for House...

As much as their personalities clash, Martha has formed a grudging respect for her genius boss. Unfortunately House has no respect for anyone on his team. Eighty hour work weeks are common, and since she is a medical student, all of her work has to be supervised by another doctor on the team. So far neither doctors Foreman, Chase or Taub have complained (at least to her face). Not that House cares. Only solving the latest medical mystery seems important to him.

But for how much longer? Ever since Dr. Lisa Cuddy, the hospital's administrator, broke off her relationship with House, he has been in a rapid downward spiral. Drunkeness and prostitues were quickly followed by a return to a vicadin drug habit - something House managed to kick two years ago. Martha has been alarmed by House making medical decisions in this condition, and her conscience has been urging her to report him, but a sense of loyalty and the lack of concern by her colleagues has deterred her. Apparently the rest of the team grew use to House's drug use in previous years and judge that it does not affect his skills as a doctor.

But his personal life is another matter. In a crazy attempt to hurt Dr. Cuddy, House has entered into a green card marriage with an attractive young woman. If he gets caught in this phony marriage to a Russian immigrant, House will go to jail. Martha sighs. At least House has someone. Martha reconsiders Spencer Reid's invitation to dinner and wonders if she should have accepted - just to keep in practice, if for no other reason. Martha begins counting back the number of months it has been since she was last on a date and moans when it goes beyond a year. Maybe it is time to go against her 'inclinations'...

A slight breeze. The drapes covering the sliding door that leads to the balcony definitely moved, and since Martha lives only on the second floor, she always keeps that sliding door locked. The bedroom doors are closed, and there are only two other doors in the small apartment that can be opened and which would cause such a crosswind. She just locked the door to the hallway - that leaves the bathroom door.

Martha turns and sees a smiling 'Danny' standing in the bathroom doorway. She bolts for the front door, but Danny is quick. Her escape blocked, Martha backs away. Danny has a knife.

"Martha, don't spoil our date. If you scream or struggle, I'll hurt you in ways you can't imagine."

"I'll...be good." Martha manages to reply, her breathing already becoming labored from fear. Oh God, he is going to kill her and (gulp) eat her. 'My poor family...'

"I'm guessing you now know about me?"

Martha nods. "The F.B.I. showed up at dawn looking for you."

"I knew they would once you began that D.N.A. search. I told House I didn't want that."

"We wanted to find your father to see if you had any inherited neurological conditions. After you explained to Dr. House that you feared you would kill your father if he showed up, we stopped looking, Danny."

"I told you, that's not my name! My real name...is Alan."

Martha tries not to groan. She feels this time he is telling the truth - further evidence that he doesn't intend for her to survive this encounter.

"Alan, please remember that I helped cure you. I cared about you. Doesn't that count for anything? What about the second chance you said God gave you? Would he want you to do...this?"

"God did give me a second chance, and I've been waiting on a sign as to which way my life should go. You were that sign, Martha."

"Me?"

"For years I've preyed on trusting women like you, and I always felt guilty about deceiving them so much. But you Martha, I was honest with you. I told you I was evil. I told you I am a monster, and still you trusted me." Alan says as he holds up Martha's list of homeless shelters. "It's a sign from God to continue my work."

This time Martha does groan. Stupid, stupid, stupid! House is right, she is too trusting to be a good doctor and now it is going to get her killed.

"Alan...please, please don't do this."

In response, Alan moves closer with his knife raised. He licks his lips...

"F.B.I.! Open this door!" Agent Rossi shouts from the hallway.

"Martha, are you okay?" Reid calls out.

"Help!" Martha shouts as Alan closes the gap between them...

Out in the hallway Rossi and Reid throw their shoulders against the door. It has a very strong lock and it takes two more tries before the door bursts open. The two F.B.I. agents enter, guns drawn. They find an empty apartment. It takes them only a moment to locate Martha. She is on the balcony, pressed tight up against the railing. The Unsub is precariously standing on the outside of the railing with his knife jammed against Martha's throat.

Rossi takes aim. "Put down the knife."

Smiling, Alan replies, "No."

"Please don't hurt her." Reid adds.

"Don't make me shoot you." Rossi snarls.

"Go ahead, old man, pull the trigger. When my body falls the knife will rip her throat wide open."

Rossi hesitates, recognizing the truth of that. "Back up is already on the way. How long do you think you can stay like this?"

"Not long, which is why you two are going to do exactly what I say. Holster your weapons and step back into the hallway, closing the door behind you. Give me a ten count and I'll jump down. It's only a ten foot drop, and I figure I can outrun either of you any day of the week."

"Not going to happen, kid."

"You sure? Because at the first sign of a flashing red light, I'll kill her and take my chances."

Martha, being very careful not to move, pleads, "Spencer, please..."

Reid hesitates a moment and then holsters his pistol.

"Reid, what are you doing?"

"Rossi, we can't just watch him kill Martha. We have to take this chance."

Rossi sighs and also holsters his pistol. "Okay kid, a ten second head start, but hear me good. If you hurt the girl, you'll never be taken alive. My personal guarantee on that."

Watching the Unsub carefully, Rossi and Reid exit the apartment, and from behind the closed door they began a slow, loud count to ten. Martha tries not to tremble. She can already feel a thin trickle of blood running down her throat. This is it. Will he keep his word or is she going to die? Alan leans closer and whispers into her ear...

"I think the skinny one likes you."

With that, he is gone.

"Spencer!"

Rossi and Reid rush back in. Rossi goes to the balcony railing and looks down - cursing when he sees the Unsub has already disappeared into the darkness. He pulls out his cell phone to alert the rest of the team. Martha automatically goes into Reid's arms...

"I-I was so s-scared!"

Reid holds her tight as Martha cries on his shoulder. He tries not to notice how good it feels to have this lovely young woman trembling against him...

"You're safe, Martha. I promise, he will never come near you again."

As her adrenaline rush begins to wane, Martha notices how close Reid is holding her. Without thinking, her hormonal side evaluates how this would feel under better circumstances... "Thank you Spencer, but...I'm still not going out with you."

Meanwhile, in the darkness...

Alan runs with surprising speed for a man one day out of the hospital. He zigzags his way between buildings, over fences and through dark alleyways. He has always had this uncanny ability to evade pursuit. It is one of the reasons the police have never captured him. Alan pauses to catch his breath and ponder his next move. The cops know what he looks like now. He has to find a place where he can lay low for awhile. But where? There's only one chance. The last place where someone might still be willing to take him in.

Arcadia.

To Be Continued. Please Review.


	2. Chapter 2

AND FURTHER

3-26-11/Saturday evening.

The working class home looks much the same as he remembers it, and Alan breathes a sigh of relief when he reads the name on the mailbox. It would truly suck if he had come all this way only to find there is no shelter available to him. It has been a long journey – five nights of avoiding police roadblocks by travelling country roads, going through forests and crossing open fields. The fancy doctor's suit is long gone, replaced by jeans and a heavy work shirt from a small town thrift store. Alan is beginning to look like (and smell like) the homeless man he is. With his Refsum's Disease in full remission, Alan's sense of smell is back to normal and he no longer mistakes body odor for peppermint.

Alan has waited until sundown to make his approach. Although he is too far from New Jersey to worry about an active manhunt, cops tend to hassle the homeless more by daylight - especially in residential neighborhoods. Alan knocks on the door and listens as he hears movement inside the house. The front door swings open, but the screen door remains hooked. The middle-aged man glances at his visitor…

"Yes, can I…" (A pause, followed by a gasp.) "Alan, is that really you?"

"Hey, Uncle Carl."

Carl Rove swings open the screen door and gives Alan an effusive hug. Alan smiles and hugs back. It has been a very long time since anyone has been glad to see him.

"Alan, my God, you've been missing for so long. I wasn't sure you were still alive."

The hug breaks and Carl tries not to show that he has noticed Alan's smell.

"Yeah, sorry for not keeping in touch, Uncle Carl. It's been a rough few years. And…I'm sorry about the smell."

Carl shrugs, quickly realizing his nephew is homeless.

"No problem. Come in, we'll get you cleaned up, fed and you can meet Lillian."

"Lillian?"

"My wife."

Alan smiles. "You got remarried? That's great, Uncle Carl. How long has it been?"

"Almost three years, now. She should be on her way home from work, although she probably will be stopping at the supermarket first. Hey, how does a big, thick steak sound?"

"Sorry, I'm on a really restricted diet."

"That's okay, whatever you can eat, we'll fix it for you. In the meantime, do you remember where everything is upstairs?"

"Unless thing's have changed."

"Help yourself to a nice long shower, and you can have Adam's old room. There are still plenty of his clothes in the closet."

Later…

Cleaner and better smelling, Alan looks at himself in the mirror. His cousin's clothes do fit him perfectly, and he is beginning to look more like a regular person. He hasn't touched his beard yet – still trying to decide what look to go with. Most of the people at the hospital will remember him clean shaven, but many also saw him with a full beard. Alan notices a framed photo on the dresser and picks it up. Adam, with a very attractive red head, the two of them wrapped in each other's arms. Lucky guy, but then he was always the luckier of the two of them. The red head reminds Alan of Martha, and now that he has time to think of it, he's glad those feds interrupted him. Before, when he killed, it was out of a compulsion he could not control, but with Martha…he was there because he thought it was expected of him. Like he said, it was as if God had directed him there. He didn't really want to kill Martha. He was grateful to her and actually liked her. Of course, that had never stopped his killing before.

Alan heads downstairs and finds Uncle Carl waiting with a tall, thin blonde woman in her late forties. She has the look of a timid person, but when she sees Alan, she openly stares.

"Lillian, this is my nephew, Alan Bates."

"Oh my, Carl, when you said he looked like Adam…I had no idea."

Alan shakes Lillian's hand. "Aunt Elizabeth and my Mom were twin sisters. As you can tell, Adam and I mostly got our looks from the maternal side."

"Well, it's just amazing. If you had black hair instead of brown and wore a moustache, I wouldn't be able to tell you apart from Adam."

Alan smiles as he mentally thanks Lillian for the idea. Of course, just dye his hair…and there were old i.d.'s in Adam's room from his recent time at Berekley. "So those pictures I saw in Adam's room are accurate? He's wearing a moustache now?"

Carl nods. "He grew it a couple of years ago. He seems to think it enhances his image as an artist."

Lillian adds, "I think he looks very handsome with a moustache. Alan, I'm sure you must be hungry. Carl told me of your special diet, so everything should be okay for you."

"Thank you…Aunt Lillian."

Carl and Lillian smile as they escort their guest into the dining room…

Still later…

The dinner with Uncle Carl was the most normal thing Alan had experienced in many years. Actual conversation about ordinary, real life things! He learned that Lillian was a librarian – a branch manager of a facility on the city's eastside. Uncle Carl finally has earned his pension from the city and retired only a month ago. (He wanted to work longer, but his back was bothering him.) Adam and the red head he is married to, a reporter named Cindy, were expecting their first child in six months. Fortunately, between her pay as a reporter and Adam's great success as an artist in the bay area, finances were no problem. (At this Alan had to strain not to show his jealousy. Why did he get stuck with the crappy life?) Questions were cautiously directed his way. What was life like living on the streets? Alan admitted to his heroin addiction and told the tale of how he briefly died of an overdose only to be revived. He proudly proclaims he has been clean since November. When asked about his burned arm, Alan quickly turned the story of an accident by two kids with a rocket into a gang attack by teenagers who thought it would be amusing to see him burn. That cut off any more inquiries about street life.

After dinner they settled in the living room, and Alan notices a photo of Lillian and an equally tall and thin blonde teenager.

"Lillian, is that your daughter?" Alan politely asks.

"Glynis. I lost her a few years ago." Lillian replies, her voice filled with sadness.

Alan is about to ask how she died when he notice the tiniest shake of the head from Uncle Carl. Okay, sensitive subject. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Alan. But what about your family? Carl has never told me much about Elizabeth's relatives."

Alan hesitates, and is surprised that after all of these years, it still hurts to talk about it. Carl notices and quickly responds…

"Elizabeth's twin sister Rose married a man named Henry Bates who owned a bar in Richmond Virginia. We didn't have a lot of day-to-day interaction with them, so we assumed their marriage was okay because we never heard otherwise."

In a soft voice Alan adds, "Mom always said the early years were okay. Dad drank a lot and tended to yell and argue, but he never hit her, at least not until I came along."

Lillian says, "I don't understand. This 'Henry' person is blessed with a child, and he reacts by becoming violent?"

Carl explains, "Henry and Rose had an agreement before their marriage that there would be no kids. Rose was devoutly Catholic and wanted children, but she made the agreement when Henry explained why. It seems Henry's father abused him terribly as a child, and he feared he would pass that on to any child of his own."

"I...I never knew that." an astonished Alan says.

"Rose confided this to Elizabeth who told me. But Alan, nothing can excuse how your father treated you. I've never hated a man as much as I hated Henry Bates for what he did to you and your mother."

"How bad did it get?" Lillian asks.

Alan sighs. "It built up over the years. Most of the time Dad ignored me, real indifferent like. But when he was drinking, he would scream obscenities at me, and would tell me I was a mistake that he hated. When I got a little older...the beatings began. When it got bad, Mom would step in and take the beating for me."

As Alan begins to cry, Carl continues, "It finally got so bad, Rose called here begging for help. I drove down to Richmond that night."

Alan wipes away his tears and chuckles. "I was nine then, and I saw Uncle Carl beat the crap out of my Dad. I know it's wrong, but that's one of the best memories of my life."

Carl smiles. "Mine too. Alan and Rose spent that summer here in Arcadia."

"The only good summer of my childhood. I remember playing like a normal kid with Adam and his friends Steve and Grace. It was wonderful. Thank you Uncle Carl, I'll never forget that."

Lillian asks, "Rose went back to her husband?"

"Henry kept calling begging for a second chance. He claimed he had stopped drinking, and that he was willing to go into counseling. Divorce was never an option for Rose, and even though we begged her to stay, she went back to Henry."

"And it was better, at first. But slowly we began drifting back to where we started. It went on like that for years. When the violence got too much to endure, we would flee to Arcadia, but no matter how many times this happened, Mom always went back. I never understood how she could be so gullible as to trust Dad's lies over and over." Alan says with an angry bitterness in his voice.

"Then...Elizabeth died."

"That was the last straw for Mom. When we got back from the funeral, Mom just sort of...gave up. It took only a week for Mom to follow Aunt Elizabeth's example..."

All three go silent as they contemplate the tragedy of twin sisters, both committing suicide within days of each other. Alan clears his throat and continues...

"I think Dad finally snapped after Mom died. He sold the bar and we began to travel, always moving from town to town."

"Why?" Lillian asks.

"Dad didn't want us to stay in any one place too long in case...people became suspicious of what he was doing to me." Alan says as he pulls back the collar of his shirt, revealing some of the scars and burn marks that cover his body.

"Oh you poor dear..." Lillian cries.

"I finally ran away when I was 15, and that's how I ended up homeless and eventually an addict."

"What are your plans, Alan?" Carl asks.

"I've been trying to find work Uncle Carl, but there are no jobs for homeless ex-junkies without references."

"We'll help you!" Lillian avers with great determination. "You are welcome to stay as long as it takes to get you back on your feet."

"Thank you Aunt Lillian, you are very kind."

Alan smiles at Lillian, seeing that she is deeply moved by his story. Truly she has a tender heart, a gentle soul and...a trusting nature. Alan licks his lips. Lillian Rove is older and scrawnier than he normally likes, but hey, he's eaten worse...

X X X X X

3-27-11/Sunday morning.

Muttering under her breath, Joan Girardi diligently searches her room: not in her purse, nor her jacket pockets, not on the dresser, nightstand or desk - not on the floor or under the bed... She doesn't have time for this! Where are her keys? There can be only one answer...

"E.T.!" Joan shouts out into the hallway.

From her room (formerly Kevin's) steps Eleanor Theresa Girardi, aged three years and ten months. She is dressed for church and her rather homely face gives Joan a look of total innocence. Joan isn't fooled.

"Yes Joan?"

"Have you been in my room again?"

E.T. fakes being indignant. "Of course not. I'm not allowed in without your permission."

"Where are my car keys, you little thief?"

"I'm telling! You called me a thief."

"How are you going to tell after I've knocked your head off? Where are my keys?"

"How should I know? I'm not in charge of your stuff."

Joan sighs. "I don't have time for this. I have a million things to do today."

"No you don't. No one can do a 'million' things in a single day."

Joan sighs again, trying not to get frustrated by an arguement with an almost four year old. Besides being a sociopath, E.T. has also inherited those quirky Girardi genius genes. She already reads at a middle school level, and easily understands how large a number 1,000,000 is.

"I merely meant I'm very busy. I need my keys!"

"You're always busy, busy, busy. You know, some big sisters actually find time to play with their little sisters."

"Since when do you care it anyone plays with you?"

"Of course I care. What do you think I am...a freak?" E.T. asks with an almost convincing look of sadness on her face.

Joan hesitates, wishing it were easier to read E.T., but her sociopath nature makes that difficult. Is this a true desire for normal sisterly interaction? Unlikely. Lately E.T. has begun to realize how different she is from other kids, and she has begun trying to fit in by imitating the behavior of others. Probably she has learned that sisters play together, and instead of just asking, the pint-sized Machiavelli is resorting to blackmail.

"So, if I play with you for awhile, you'll tell me where my keys are?"

"If I had them. But I'd be glad to help look for the keys of a sister who spends quality time with me." E.T. says with a big smile.

"Or maybe I should just search you?"

A shrug. "Feel free."

"Or search your room?"

Another shrug.

"Okay, what do you really want?"

"A trip to the comic book store and any five comics I choose."

Joan shakes her head. The little manipulator almost had her fooled.

"One."

"Four."

"One."

"Three?"

"One, and I don't turn you over my knee right now."

"Fine...they're in your jewlery box."

"It has a lock."

E.T. smiles. "Not a very good lock."

As Joan rushes to her jewlery box, E.T. giggles and runs for the stairs.

X X X X X

A million things to do might have been a huge exaggeration, but it doesn't feel like one to Joan. Now in her second year of law school at Arcadia College (will she ever get out of this school?), Joan is facing a semester of independent study. This is necessary because she has a 'part-time' job as an intern with the county prosecutor's office. Joan has found that this 'real world' experience includes an enormous drain on her time - far beyond the hours she is suppose to be worked, but if she wants good performance reviews, she has to comply. That would be bad enough as she wades through mountains of paperwork, proof reading routine documents, filling out routine forms and researching precedents on cases, but being an instrument of God, Joan knows who is guilty and who is innocent.

Every time a case file passes through her cubbyhole at the prosecutor's office, and Joan realizes an innocent person is being charged...she has to do something about it. Hardly a week has gone by where Joan hasn't had to do some investigative work to clear the innocent person and find the guilty one. This has made her less than popular in the office and with some of the cops, but having her Dad as the police chief helps to keep her job safe. It has also reinforced Joan's decision to enter the prosecutor's office after passing the bar. She is needed there.

Speaking of being needed, Joan's rush this morning is to meet with her study group to help prepare for mid-terms. The lectures of the law professors are available on-line, but that doesn't give you the necessary interaction to really get a feel for the subject. Criminal law is Joan's specialty, and she makes sure to attend all of those lectures personally. Other members of the group have their own specialties and do the same for the others.

And more time demands. Joan is still a full time instrument of God and has more and more assignments being piled onto her. This is due to an upswing of demonic activity, with concentrations in certain areas, like Arcadia. (It's almost like that TV show where a small town was a 'hellmouth', only not quite so bad). There have been times when Joan has had to team up with other instruments of God from other cities in order to deal with whatever the devil is throwing at them. Joan has made some new friends this way...and lost some. The good guys don't always win. The latest time consumer in Joan's life is her own trainee. It seems God decided she needed backup as Arcadia becomes more of a demonic hotbed of activity. Fresh out of spiritual bootcamp, Joan has been assigned this new girl instead of having her trained by one of God's angels. Joan knows why. She's being taught a lesson on forgiveness, and letting go of grudges.

Bonnie. Yes, that Bonnie - the Arcadia High skank of all skanks who slept with Adam and changed the courses of both of their lives. (Good one, God - that'll teach me.) Except, Joan is convinced Bonnie is a mistake. She took much longer to finish spiritual boot camp than most, and now she is proving to be a lazy, undisciplined, unfocused loser at her advanced training. Really God, I get it. I repent of any grudges I may have held, so...joke's over?

"I'm not getting anything."

"Shh. Focus."

"This is a waste of time."

Yeah, mine. "You have to give it time. Start over, clear your mind..." (Shouldn't take long.) "Let the distractions of the world fade away. Focus on the spiritual side. Did you pick out a scripture to meditate on?"

"I forgot."

Joan sighs. Her own performance is suffering due to Bonnie and her inept ways. Joan misses the days when she had her tutor tapping on her window every morning at dawn. Talk about motivation to get started on your day...

"Can't we do martial arts training? I like that."

"Don't tempt me."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean the spiritual side is the more important of the two. That's the only way your faith will grow strong enough to face down a demon."

Bonnie finally goes silent, and Joan tries to concentrate on her own period of meditation. This is something she is suppose to do everyday, but time management has become a problem for her. Too bad. It is the only way she can keep track of the spiritual landscape of Arcadia, especially the comings and goings of demons. Repeatedly muttering a bible verse, Joan opens herself to revealation during this time. Joan experiences the physical fading away and the spiritual strengthening...

"I saw Adam today."

Joan snaps back to the physical in a bucket-of-cold-water moment. Is Bonnie trying to push her buttons? Here they are in a quiet, secluded part of the park with no interruptions... They should be done by now!

"You couldn't have seen Adam. He's living in San Francisco with his wife."

"Maybe he's visiting?"

Joan shakes her head. "He would have told me. We're still friends."

"Maybe it's a little awkward contacting the ex now that he's married?"

"We regularly keep in touch." Joan says, hearing an edge to her voice. (God, why are you doing this to me?) "Where do you think you saw him?"

"Fifth and Peach - coming out of the convenience store. I was a block away and he had his hoodie up, but it definitely was Adam."

"Adam moved out of the hoodie stage a long time ago. You made a mistake."

"Did not. You think I don't know Adam Rove when I see him? By the way, he has a cool new beard."

Joan reaches into her pocket and removes her phone. She runs through the options until she comes to a certain photo...

"Adam and Cindy at a gallery opening in Frisco on Friday night. A fairly sexy moustache, but no beard."

Bonnie stares at the picture. "Huh, I guess I was wrong. But..."

"A block away with his hood up - an easy mistake. Now, can we concentrate?"

Bonnie resumes her meditation pose while a memory surfaces for Joan. Around the time she found out about her half-uncle Richard, she and Adam had a long talk about family and distant relatives. Adam mentioned he had a cousin he hadn't seen in a long time that looked like him...

X X X X X

It has been a long and difficult day for Alan as he has been confronting the voice in his head that won't shut up! Ever since the thought of making Lillian his next victim popped into his mind, the idea has obsessed him. Alan knows this would be the dumbest move he could ever make, but since when has he made smart moves? So nervous is Alan about being alone with Lillian, he accepted Uncle Carl's invitation to attend Sunday mass. Alan has vague memories of attending such services with his Mom and thought nothing of going. But for some reason Alan found the experience extremely unsettling. It was all he could do not to run out of the building while the congregation was praising God.

After church Uncle Carl went off to his lodge to play cards with some friends, leaving him alone with Lillian. It was too much temptation to endure, and Alan hastily went for a walk. He felt nervous being out in public, and he kept the hood up on his jacket at all times, but Alan was surprised by how he drew no attention from others. Now that he no longer looked homeless, people didn't stare and treat him with suspicion. The girl at the convenience store, where he bought a bottle of black hair dye, even flirted with him. This confirmed the wisdom of the plan Alan had formed. He was safe in Arcadia as long as he drew no attention to himself. He could rest and recover, and after a couple of weeks he would move on - using his cousin's old i.d. as his own. This way he might get years more of freedom to travel and feed his unusual appetites.

The plan made sense, but there was no arguing with the voice once it began to whisper to him. Alan has had this struggle before, and always lost the arguement. But not this time (he hopes). To kill someone he is connected to, no matter how remotely, would forever end any degree of anonimity he has left. Alan Bates would be revealed as the cannibal killer, and there were old photos of him in the records of a half dozen high schools scattered across the land. Besides, in order to have Lillian, he would have to kill Uncle Carl, and that is something he is not prepared to do. His affection and gratitude for Carl Rove is genuine. Of course...he has killed others before who got in his way.

Alan paces nervously in the narrow confines of the old shed at the back of the Rove property. He was told that at one time the shed was used by his cousin for an art studio, but now it is just used for storage. Alan notices a collection of old photo albums, arranged by date. He pulls out the one that corresponds to the summer of his ninth year. Alan sits on a stool and fondly goes through the many pictures. There he is with Adam, playing in the backyard. Adam's friend Steve (...Ramsey?) is there, and that opinionated blonde girl...Grace. And there's Uncle Carl, playing with them - a big bear of a man who rarely raised his voice and never hit. It had been an amazing revealation to the young Alan that such men existed. No, no, no! How could he ever contemplate hurting his uncle?

He has to get out of here. Leave Arcadia before he does something he will regret forever...but, he has so many regrets already. What's one more? Alan looks at the photo album again and sees a picture of his Mom with Aunt Elizabeth. Even though they are identical twins, you could always tell them apart. The fear never left Mom's eyes. Alan's fingers grip the album hard in a moment of rage. All who knew him and learned of his miserable childhood assumed he hated his Dad with good reasons, and he did. But he has never hated Dad nearly as much as he hates his own mother. The weak, gullible, trusting bitch who kept dragging him back to the monster that always abused them! Why? What was wrong with her? Why didn't she protect him, get a divorce, call the cops...kill that bastard.

He knows why. Rose Bates always looked for the good in people, always gave them second (and third and fourth) chances, and never stopped believing that there is good in everyone... "If you trust people Alan, you'll see the best in them come out." Idiot. His life ruined by a Pollyanna who couldn't see the simple truth - people are no damned good. Especially Henry Bates. Rose's faith, that the 'core of goodness' deep down in her husband would prevail, never ended. Again, idiot. How he hates women like that. Women like...Lillian. Alan wonders about Lillian's daughter, this 'Glynis' girl. Did she die because Lillian was too weak and trusting to protect her own child? Probably. She deserves to die like all women of her kind. Only the strong should survive, and the flesh of the weak should sustain them...

In the alley...

Joan brakes to a halt half a block away from the rear of the Rove home. Bonnie is in the passenger seat.

"Why are we stopping here?"

"Focus. Is the demon in the house?"

Bonnie pauses, letting the spirtiual side rise... "No. It's back here someplace. It's...powerful."

"A cannibal demon - very rare."

"And the guy possessed by the demon is Adam's cousin?"

"That's just a guess, but it makes sense with what you saw. And he's not possessed, just heavily influenced. This guy has plenty of hate of his own for the demon to work with."

"How can you filter that out with so much demonic energy interferring?"

"Practice. You're okay with the plan?"

Bonnie nods. "I approach first because...?"

"The demon is a spiritual being, and it will detect the approach of an instrument of God. If I go first, the thing will probably take off rather than risk being sent to hell. It has that option since it hasn't possessed this...cousin."

"I get it. If I go first, it will know I don't have the spiritual juice necessary to do it harm. That's when you sneak up and lower the whammy."

Joan sighs. "We will work on your terminology another time. The gate you want is the fifth one on the..."

"I know which one it is! Even in the dark, I know. I didn't just have sex with Adam, ya know? We were...friendly. I use to visit him in the shed and we would talk about art and stuff..."

To Joan's surprise, Bonnie wipes away a tear. Oh my God, it wasn't just my grudge I'm suppose to be dealing with, it's Bonnie's! Joan mentally kicks herself for not seeing this before. Bonnie was raised by drug dealing parents who virtually ignored her existence growing up. That's why she lost her virginity at twelve. That's why by the time she got to Arcadia High, she was the school's official easy lay. If a guy was desperate enough for sex, and willing to sink really low, he went to Bonnie. She was the one girl guys never bragged about because she was considered lower than a whore. It was one of the reasons Adam's betrayal had hurt so much. They were having so many problems near the end, Joan wouldn't have been surprised if another girl had stolen Adam away (the way she did to Iris). But for Adam to have slept with Bonnie had been an extra twist of the knife in her heart.

As Bonnie tries to calm herself, Joan finally sees her student's perspective. Adam wasn't just one of a thousand guys who used and discarded Bonnie like a tissue. He had been nice to her, encouraged her and made her think (unwittingly on his part) that there was the possibility of more than just sex. That's why she made that scene outside of mock trial that day. Bonnie knew the rules of her role in high school, and she never made such a scene before any other guy's girlfriend. This time it had been personal. This time, the only time, her heart was broken. How has she missed this? Some tutor she is.

"Bonnie..."

"On my way." Bonnie says as she hastily exits.

Joan watches as Bonnie goes to the correct gate and enters the Rove backyard. Joan exits the car and begins a more cautious approach.

In the shed, Alan begins to feel an unexplained nervousness. Something is wrong. A knock at the door. Alan answers the knock and is surprised to see a young woman about his age standing a few feet back from the door...

"Yeah?"

"Adam, it's me - Bonnie. I know it has been a long time since Arcadia High, but surely you remember?"

"Sorry, I'm not Adam. I'm his cousin." Alan says as he exits the shed and steps closer to Bonnie. The girl seems ordinary enough, but Alan feels a sudden hostility toward her.

"This is amazing. What a resemblance."

Alan thinks of the knife hidden at the back of his belt and contemplates killing the girl. Wait, why is he thinking this way? Alan feels a firm hand grasp his shoulder. He turns and sees a familiar face...

"Martha?"

Joan Girardi raises the silver cross personally given her by God. "By the power of Almighty God, I bind you foul creature! You are cast into hell, never to return!"

Alan Bates falls to his knees feeling like a balloon with the air suddenly let out. Free of the demonic influence, he begins to gasp at the enormity of his crimes, and weeps for the fate of his soul...

"You did it Joan, I felt the demon leave when you cast it down! Wow, what a rush. I can't wait until I can do that. What do we do with this guy?"

"Turn him over to the authorities. He reeks of murder and must be wanted somewhere."

Alan hears the words and panics. As horrible as he feels about what he has done, facing punishment is not an option. Alan stands and heads for the gate. "Out of my way!"

Bonnie assumes a martial arts stance. "No, you're our..."

"Bonnie, no!"

Too late. Alan swings his fist and Bonnie almost manages to duck the punch (she just needs more practice). Bonnie goes down from a glancing blow and Alan tries to continue his escape. He gets one more step before Joan crushes his ankle with a hard stomp. Alan goes down screaming in pain, which ends when Joan follows up with a spin kick that knocks him out cold. Joan drops to her knees beside her student...

"Bonnie, you okay?"

Bonnie rubs her sore jaw. "Ow. He was a lot faster than I expected. I guess I'm just no good at this."

"You'll get better. You were brave and willing. That's half the battle."

"So I'm not fired?"

Joan smiles. "Not even close. But tomorrow, when you're feeling better, we need to have a long talk."

X X X X X

Spencer Reid is in his apartment watching a documentary when the phone rings. He is startled by the caller i.d.

"Joan, is that really you?"

"Hey Spencer, a long time, huh?"

Reid can hear the sound of traffic and realizes Joan is driving. "This is an amazing coincidence. I was just thinking about you the other day. I recently met a young woman who could pass for your sister."

Martha Masters. That explains why the cousin called her 'Martha'. "Fascinating. Check your e-mail. You'll see I've sent you a photo of a guy I have tied up in my trunk."

From anyone else Reid would find that an alarming statement, but with Joan... "Got it. Hey, that's our Unsub. The cannibal serial killer we have been looking for."

"I'm on the interstate headed for Washington. Can you meet me somewhere halfway between so I can hand this guy off to you? I'd rather his arrest not be associated with Arcadia to spare some nice people an ugly scandal. And as usual..."

"Keep your name out of it. Of course, I'll see who's available from the BAU and call you back with details. Joan, despite the circumstances, it's really good to hear from you again. You've been on my mind this week. Is there any chance...?"

Joan glances at the ring on her finger and automatically smiles. "Spencer, I'm taken."

"Oh, of course...I should have known. I'll call you back as soon as I have details."

Reid disconnects and sighs. Timing is everything. Now, who to call? He's been working mostly with David Rossi on this case, and Rossi met Martha. It would be amusing to see his reaction to meeting Joan... Oh wait, Rossi said he would be gone all weekend on a romantic getaway with his latest girlfriend. Reid dials Derek Morgan...

"Hey Reid, what's up?"

"I was wondering if you were free. I could use backup in a prisoner transfer."

"I have nothing on my plate. Who's the perp?"

"Our cannibal Unsub."

"They caught him? Great, I'll be glad to put that psycho behind bars. But if the cops have him, what's the rush?"

"Actually, the police didn't make the arrest. Do you remember Joan Girardi...?"

THE END. Please review.

Footnote: For the reason Joan knows about Martha but not vice versa, check out my story: TRIPLE M.


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